Stories like this just keep me coming back for more. Thanks so much for a real treat!
The next morning dawned bright and warm. Small, puffy clouds drifted lazily through the clear blue sky. It was perfectly picturesque, Jack thought to himself as he sifted through the last bit of evidence that Perry, Jimmy, Clark, and he himself had complied against Lex Luthor. It was clear now that Luthor actually was The Boss, responsible for most of the city’s organized crime. Not only that, but there was also no mistaking the fact that Luthor had ordered the bomb strike on The Daily Planet, framing Jack for it probably because he was an easy target – a troubled young street kid that few people would go out of their way to believe or defend.
See, Jack isn't just a street kid, the guy appreciates a lovely day
and he's an ace researcher. Acquiring this skill is definitely going to be of assistance to him in the future. Like say, college? With this new-found determination, our young Jack can move beyond the past and into a very bright future.
He looks like Hell, Jack thought as his stomach lurched and a chill ran down his spine.
It was true. Clark was deathly pale looking; the eternal, natural tan to his skin had gone ashen. His breathing was labored and his movements were stiff, uncertain, and slow. His features were pinched tight, like he was sick or suffering in excruciating pain. His normally bright eyes were dull and almost unfocused looking. Jack could swear he’d seen a limp in Clark’s stride too.
What had happened in the hours between when Clark had left his apartment and now?
Jack didn’t know, but Clark’s condition scared him.
Okay it doesn't take a genius to recognize Clark health has taken a beating, especially since a man like him is usually the picture of health. Nonetheless in the wake of Luthor's suicide it is unlikely anyone would take notice. But Jack did. He is truly concerned about his friend/brother/mentor.
“I got myself into a little scrape, nothing to worry about,” Clark answered, involuntarily flinching, pulling his hands away again, hiding the marks on his palms as though ashamed.
“Bull,” Jack challenged, feeling brave. “Superman doesn’t get into scrapes.”
What little remaining color had been in Clark’s face drained away as he fought to keep a neutral expression. For a split-second, Jack felt guilty that he’d phrased it that way. But he was worried sick about his friend and he had no patience for dancing around and mincing words with a man who looked like death warmed over. If ever there has been a time to lay all his cards on the table, Jack figured it was now.
Forget it Clark. You are not going to bluff your way out of this one.
Clark went to protest but another, stronger yawn took him, leaving him powerless to speak until it passed. “Maybe a quick shower instead, before I call Lois,” he decided. “Don’t. Leave,” he instructed, wagging his finger at Jack.
Jack made a shooing motion with his right hand. “Go on. Wash the stench of Luthor’s arrogance off you,” he teased.
Clark nodded and stood up with a groan. His hands immediately went to his lower back as he shuffled off to grab some clean clothing from his bedroom before limping down to the bathroom. As soon as Jack heard the water in the shower turn on, he slipped out of the apartment.
“Sorry, Clark,” he whispered as he sauntered down the street a minute later. “But I need to do this for you.”
Observant. Smart. Loyal. At the risk of facing a jail sentence he is willing to get rid of that damnable cage. That's what friends do.
“Montre…aw, man,” Jack said in a daze.
It's okay Jack. A fresh start is just what you and Denny need.
DC, excellent explanations all around!